


Plaything

by Asynca



Series: Ready, Set, Go! - Speed Prompts [21]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, I wonder what Tracer is up to..., and then casually drinks the rest of her wine before leaving like, he is nothing, in which widow shoots perverts' dicks, please ignore this writhing bleeding pervert, smackdown
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-21
Updated: 2016-10-21
Packaged: 2018-08-23 17:13:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8335828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asynca/pseuds/Asynca
Summary: Written in 58 minutes. I hate it when men think Widowmaker is sexually available to them, okay?





	

It’s been a hard day on site with the boys, you’re tired, you’re sweaty, and you can’t wait to head back home for a shower. It’s a long trip back, though, so you think you’ll have a quick one at the pub before you start the trip.

It’s a dingy old place, this pub; the lighting is terrible and it smells like men’s locker room because it’s always filled with boys from the local worksites. It’s loud, it’s ugly, but it’s always been great place to unwind.

Tonight, though, there’s a woman there. She’s in the corner stall sitting in the dark; you don’t reckon anyone else had noticed her. She’d be surrounded by men if they had. You have to get a bit closer to get a good look at her: she’s so pale she looks almost blue in this lighting, she’s skinny as fuck (not your preference), but her tits are basically hanging out of her dominatrix-style spandex top which makes up for the skinny thing. Obviously, she wants it. There’s no other reason she’d been in a place like this dressed like that, right?

You know, suddenly you can think of other ways you’d like to unwind.

You spend a couple of seconds sipping on you beer and watching her—got to make sure there’s no boyfriend, right?—but it’s only when she stands up to get another drink that you notice how fucking perfect that ass is. Yeah, that 10/10 ass definitely makes up for the small tits and skinny thing. You’ve made your mind up.

Grabbing your half-finished beer, you push away from the bar and walk up to the woman. She looks up as you do and her expression changes. You can’t read it.

“Hey, beautiful,” you say, using ‘honey’ because some hormonal bitch went off at you for calling her ‘honey’ last month, “I haven’t seen you here before!”

You still can’t read her. “That’s probably because I haven’t been here before.” She has a French accent.

You fan your arms out. “Well, this is your welcome party!” you laugh a couple of times, and then sit down across from her. “So you’re French? What’s your name?”

She’s watching you. “Is that important?”

Oh, she definitely wants it. You laugh again. “I guess not!” You take a swig of your beer. “I’m going to call you… what’s a French name? I’m not sure I know any French names.” You try to think. There was that movie, wasn’t there? What was it, again?

“How about you don’t call me at all?”

You have to look pretty hard at her after that one; you’re not sure if trying to get rid of you or not. In the end, you decide ‘or not’, because she’s leaning forward on the table showing you most of those beautiful little tits and everything else she’d said so far has been a big green light. Her just being here, wearing that dominatrix suit is a green light. She’s probably playing hard to get; she seems like a bit of a bitch so she probably wants it hard—in bed and out of it.

“I don’t have to call you after if you don’t want, beautiful,” you say, leaning forward, too. “It can just a once off.”

She spends a good few seconds watching you through narrow eyes before she rolls them and stands up. She gets up and pretends to leave—but she glances at you on the way past—and that little glance is the go-ahead. She wants you to stop her.

You do: by reaching out and pinching that perfect ass. It’s exactly how you expected it to be: firm, but soft. Full. Man, you’d like to have all of it in your hands and a little something in between it.

She freezes.

For a second, you wonder if she’s going to throw her drink on you—she doesn’t.

Instead, she turns, and turns on the hot, hot charm. “Oh, you want this?” she says in this sexy, dangerous voice.

Here we go. Hell, yes, you want that.  “Sure, baby.”

She takes another step towards you. “You want to _fuck_ me, do you?” she asks. Man, that thick accent is hot as hell. You’d fuck just that voice if you could. She’s going to make you hard just by talking if she keeps going; not to mention that tight getup she’s wearing. She wants to show you everything that’s underneath her clothes before she’s even taken them off for you.

“Yeah, I want to fuck you, baby,” you tell her, and pat your lap. You’ve fucked women in bars before. You can probably get away with it in here. Beer and sex: what a fucking great afternoon.

In one surprisingly agile movement, she throws a leg across you in the stall, and she’s straddling you, her hands on the backrest behind you, her knees on either side of your hips. Oh, yeah.

You put your hands on that fucking amazing ass, feeling that fill up your underwear. Yeah, today was turning out better than expected. You’re going to get some fucking hot tail before the sun’s even down.

“I bet you want to spread my long legs and grab my body,” she says, those bee-stung lips beside your ear. Man, she’s making you hard. “And then you want to put _that_ it inside me, don’t you?” She glances down at your pants.

Man, this woman is smoking hot. You definitely don’t mind about how skinny she is now, you can totally forgive it because of everything else she has to offer you. “You bet I do, baby,” you tell her, kneading that ass and trying to pull it down against your full, paint-stained shorts. “And I bet you want me to give it to you right here, don’t you? I bet you want me to give it to you.”

Her voice is suddenly cold. “Of course I don’t, you _filth_ ,” she says, and then you’re being slammed against the backrest of the stall.

At first you think it’s all part of the fun—after all, she had those tits in your face a moment ago, and she’s straddling you, so maybe she likes it rough?—but then you get a look at her face and for the second you’re able to see it, you see she is _angry_.

Then, something collides solidly with one of your skull. You curl forward, shouting, confused, and clutching at your head while your ears ring and your eyes twinkle with stars and then something—a heel?—rolls you onto your back and your facing the ceiling.

“One day you’ll learn that it’s not all about what _you_ want,” is what you hear her say, and then you feel something cold press against the zipper on your shorts. It feels like the barrel of a gun. “And today is that day.”

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
